


Centrefold

by gemjam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Model Stiles Stilinski, Neckz 'n' Throats, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 04:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20303497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: Stiles started modelling to earn money in college. It was thanks to Peter that he even knew werewolf softcore porn was a thing.





	Centrefold

**Author's Note:**

> Written (very belatedly) for the _Neckz 'n Throats_ prompt from Steter Week.

Stiles started modelling to earn money in college. It was thanks to Peter that he even knew werewolf softcore porn was a thing. All of it was because of Peter really. He admits that to himself in his most brutally honest moments.

He still remembers that first shoot, eighteen years old, nervous and awkward as he took his shirt off in front of a crew of disinterested people. This was just a job for them. It was just a job to him too. That’s what he told himself.

As he arched back against the furniture on the set, baring his neck, he imagined the magazine landing in Peter’s mailbox. He was an avid subscriber. He imagined the plastic wrap being pulled away, the pages turned. He imagined blue eyes turning bluer as they saw his vulnerable flesh.

It was a thought that gotten him through many a photoshoot, but only because it’s the sole reference point he had. Peter was the end user of the product he was creating. That was a simple fact. His job was the make the customer happy.

It’s something he ended up being surprisingly good at. It was only supposed to be a temporary solution to an immediate problem, but now it’s what he does, it’s who he is. College ended two years ago but Stiles is still presenting his body, his neck, to willing cameras that don’t seem to be able to get enough of him.

And now he has his first cover. His face reveal. Only the top models in werewolf softcore porn get those. It’s about the flesh, not the human beneath. It’s gratuitous and animalistic. But even beasts are capable of forming attachments. He’s been around long enough, is comfortable enough being the vessel of their feral fantasies, that he’s practically pack to so many wolves.

He’s respected enough in the industry that he’s given complete creative control of his cover shoot and there’s only one place he wants to go. Back to where it all started.

Beacon Hills High School has barely changed. The locker room still looks the same, still smells the same, still evokes all those same feelings in him. They scout it out the day before the shoot, pick some cool locations and angles, and Stiles is so hit with nostalgia that he goes back to his dad’s house and gives himself a buzzcut.

Looking at himself in the mirror is like going back in time. Of all the fantastical things he knows are real now, time travel isn’t one of them. You only get one shot. Stiles’ started and ended in this town. But he wants to look how he did that night. The night they first met. The night he understood power and what it was like to be wanted in a way he never had before, even if it was by a monster.

The shoot is fun and he’s proud of the photos they get. Standing in the shower, the water making his clothes cling enticingly to his body. Laying out on the bench like a gift. He looks damn good. As he looks into the camera for the first time in all his years being in front of the lens, he can only think of one thing. Blue eyes getting bluer.

It keeps ticking over in his head as he sits in the courtyard afterwards, chatting with the writer. He’s done Q&A’s before, flirty little banter pieces, but he’s never spoken in depth about himself, has never been taken seriously. This isn’t another fluff piece to fill in the space between provocative photographs though. This is a detailed profile and maybe some people will even bother to read it.

He talks about his discovery of lycanthropy, his inclusion in a real-life werewolf pack, the adventures they used to get into in this very school. He doesn’t mention anyone by name, but they’d all recognise their parts. Scott would be charmed. Derek would be humbled. Peter would be…

Stiles always told himself that he doesn’t really know Peter, even though he maybe knew him better than anyone. He knows that Peter has been looking at him on glossy pages, even though they’ve never spoken unless Stiles was back in Beacon Hills and they happened to be in the same room. It was never by design. Even back in high school, nothing was ever by design. Now he thinks maybe modelling for this magazine has been his way to light that spark that he’d never dare do when he was stood right in front of Peter, the intensity of him always making Stiles feel not worthy.

He wonders if Peter will feel betrayed when he finds out that _MS_ was him all along. Will he be disgusted? Intrigued? Thrilled? He wonders if part of him already knew. No, he wouldn’t have been able to resist outing him to the rest of the pack. The narrative that some tiny part of Stiles wanted to create just doesn’t exist.

When he leaves, he means to drive back to his dad’s house, but instead he ends up at the Preserve. It’s dark and still and it should be creepy, but Stiles has met enough things that go bump in the night to not be afraid. He knows these trails like the back of his hand and it doesn’t even take any conscious effort to end up at the Hale house. What’s left of it.

He knows that Peter won’t be here, he’ll be at his apartment downtown, he’s never known Peter to live here, but this is where his feet and his mind take him when he thinks of who Peter is, who he was, tries not to hope who he might become. This is where Peter was made. Not where he was born, though that’s probably true too, he kind of doubts werewolves frequent hospitals for childbirth, but where the man Stiles knows was created, literally forged in fire.

Without that, maybe there wouldn’t have been so many barriers between them, or maybe they wouldn’t have been able to relate to each other at all. Stiles’ empathy for all that Peter lost, all the suffering he went through, took too long to take hold, and by then he’d already burnt that bridge. Better to keep the door closed.

He gets to his feet, filing away old feelings, telling himself that it’s just being back here that’s making this seem so immediate. It was never real anyway. They never had anything. Not a chance in hell.

He turns around and by the time he’s back at his car he’s locked it all away, where it belongs. Peter might be the catalyst for so many things in his life, but Stiles has always been the by-product in Peter’s.

***

Peter could tell it was Stiles the first time he turned the page and was greeted with pale skin and a tell-tale mole. He’d recognise that neck anywhere. He spent enough time staring at it over the last couple of years. Nubile was the word that came to mind. He hadn’t even wanted to sully it with the bite. His flesh had always seemed precious, even before Peter’s cravings settled into something like sanity and his want became a thing that was almost gentle.

He knew that arch, that flexibility, that pulse point that rushed with blood, pulsing just beneath the surface whenever Stiles got anxious, which was a lot. Whenever Peter’s eyes fixed on it, it was almost impossible to look away, especially when he could hear the beating of Stiles’ heart in his ears like maybe it was a part of him.

He’s not proud of the fact that his hand slides into his pants, but it’s not the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. Stiles signed up for this by deciding to pursue a career in softcore porn. He probably didn’t think of Peter being one of the people biting their lip and rocking their hips while they stared at the line of his throat though. He probably didn’t think of Peter at all.

It becomes a habit, then a routine, then a ritual. When the latest issue arrives at his apartment, he makes himself a cup of coffee and takes it back to bed with him, amongst rumpled sheets that he hardly ever shares with anyone. He sits, sipping his coffee, leafing through the pages, looking for _him_. The models are only ever referenced by initials, but Peter doesn’t even need that much of a hint. He just knows.

He only ever finishes his coffee when Stiles isn’t in that week’s edition.

He has a stack of magazines in his room with little markers stuck into each of the pages that have a photograph of Stiles. They don’t really need to be there anymore, the pages fall open on their own from overuse. Stiles would feel so violated if he knew. He’d hate Peter more than he already does.

This week, Peter doesn’t even need to open the magazine to know that he’s going to find some delicious pictures of his favourite model and guilty, shameful secret. Stiles is staring right back at him from the goddamn cover.

Peter doesn’t bother making a cup of coffee that morning.

Sitting down on his couch he tears through the plastic wrapper, finding the article. Stiles is doing a face reveal. He can’t ever turn away from this now. It’s a part of him. Just like Beacon Hills.

Peter would recognise that locker room anywhere. He remembers his own teenage years as the captain of the basketball team, and then supporting Derek as he tried to follow in his footsteps, failing as usual because that boy just didn’t know how to be ruthless.

His first time back there after so long, chasing down his Beta and his clever friend who just wouldn’t leave his side, it still gave him that same feeling that he has in his gut now. That success and failure are so tightly intertwined. He remembers wishing that night that Stiles was the one he needed to convince. This boy with the plans, the boy who was brave enough and curious enough to come closer when he should have been running.

Stiles would never have followed him though. He would never have been his. Even if some part of him did want the bite, Peter was never going to be part of that equation for him.

Peter feels frustration and betrayal coursing through him, his hands wanting to turn into fists around the glossy pages in front of him, but he can’t bring himself to destroy something so beautiful. He never could. Instead he looks at Stiles, hair just like it was when they met, as though he’s drawn from Peter’s memories rather than reality. He can see the experience in his eyes though, cynicism turned to jadedness. He knows just what power he has over the world now and he’s not afraid to wield it. Good for him.

Peter wonders if it’s a message. Beacon Hills. The Locker room. The nostalgic haircut that Peter knows he hasn’t had since his sophomore year of high school. It calls out to that part of Peter that still wants to possess him, the part that feels a tiny bit feral still. His eyes flash blue and his fingertips twitch. He wants to stake his claim. Peter never proved himself worthy of that though.

If anything, Stiles is probably reclaiming his past, rewriting his own tragic story with himself as a winner. If he casts Peter in a role at all it would probably be villain, or background character at best. He’s no one’s happy ending, so he’ll take what he can get, brown eyes looking at him through a magazine page, knowing that he’s looking back. Stiles holds all the power. He always did from that first time they met. He’s the clever one.


End file.
